The Land of Wanderers
by ThatLousyAuthor
Summary: A ghoul, a psyker, and a vault dweller? Sounds like the setup to a dirty joke...
1. Cursed From the Earth

VAULT 76 - ...a subject of debate since 2097 when according to Vault-Tek records it was supposed to begin repopulating the wasteland. Some argue it did open and the residents were killed by dangerous wasteland fauna, possibly of the homosapien variety, before they could tell anyone the location. Others postulate it hasn't been found because some calamity buried the entrance or that perhaps it lies in a heavily irradiated zone like Vault 87.

Of course to most Capital Wastelanders this vault is known for being the only one nearby that the Lone Wanderer couldn't find. Those looking for the details of his fruitless search should check the official biography by my good friend Uncle Leo, the rest of this article will focus on...

WASTELAND SURVIVAL GUIDE*

* * *

><p>When somebody got shot in the old movies it was clean, dignified, and only dragged on as long as the scene required. Reality was different. No final monologue, no dramatic fall to his knees, just a look of horror as the 10mm rounds penetrated their chest and they collapsed in a pool of blood. So much blood. Gushing out of so many wounds. Soaking into the earth as they cried out a single word.<p>

"Why..."

* * *

><p>"Because I had to!"<p>

It was pointless defending his actions. The trial was for show. That bastard just wanted to lord over him one last time. His so-called judge lay sick in bed, body and mind withering away, staring off without interest as he ranted anyway.

"You think I wanted this? They didn't leave me any other choice you decrepit..."

A feeble arm lifted, a gesture made, and an electric prod cut his insults short. Another gesture and another security goon emerged holding a red hot brand.

* * *

><p><em>Holy shit it burns.<em>

For hours he stumbled across the surface, naked body scorched by the sun's rays and bruised by the guard's clubs. Though his feet blistered and his muscles ached he couldn't stop. Stopping for even a moment would take his focus off the current situation and free his mind to wander back to the vault. To linger over the grave of...

* * *

><p><em>That stingy little fucker!<em>

The dog-sized scorpion was only little relative to the enormous arthropods he'd seen earlier. Those lumbered across the wasteland in plain view so he could give them a wide berth. This one hid under a rusty car and dashed out to jab him in the leg. Retreating back to safety it followed from a distance as he began to feel woozy and his pace slowed to a crawl. It's plan was foiled by simply climbing into the bed of a pickup, but even this tiny effort drained what little strength he had left. As his pursuer clawed the tires in frustration and it's poison took him away, quite possibly for good, he watched the sun setting. His people were under it somewhere, still trapped and suffering exactly as before. His crime accomplished nothing. He failed. He deserved to die out here.

Or at least that's what he believed.

* * *

><p><em>It's bad enough living it. I have to dream it to?<em>

You think you've got it bad? I'm stuck narrating this crap. As for our main character, calling him 'hero' or 'protagonist' is giving way too much credit, he'd spent the night going through flashbacks of that awful day. He wondered if he'd ever be able to sleep again without being dragged back to witness the deed. He had other concerns as well. Like why his midsection was wrapped in bloody bandages or how he could pass out in a driveway and wake up in a house. Looking for answers he tilted his head and discovered a pair of eyes staring down at him, the young woman they belonged to grinning with a mix of curiosity and amusement.

"Who..." His throat was too parched to get any more words out, but she was able to guess the rest.

"Am I? I'm Julia. We were making camp here last night when we found you getting nibbled on by a bloatfly."

_We?_

His confusion was alleviated by a far rougher voice. "Don't peek under those bandages kid. It's nasty, but I think I got all the larvae out."

_You 'think'?_

Another bend of the neck revealed something that should only exist in horror flicks. Rotting skin, ragged hair, and a hunger for braaaains. He'd scream if he could manage anything more than a dry wheeze.

While his eyes bulged with terror hers rolled with annoyance. "Damnit I told you to stay in the other room. You scared the crap outta him."

"And I told you a decade ago you can't have a pet, yet here we are. You don't even take care of the poor thing!" His fear evaporated as the zombie held out a bottle of water. After chugging it down he politely thanked this kind stranger for saving him from dehydration.

Just kidding. "Damn are you ugly! Are you a mutant or some kind of voodoo monster?"

That comment got him a well deserved smack. "I'm your savior you ungrateful smoothskin shit. Did smartass comments like that get you kicked out of Vault 76?"

He briefly considered the possibility of a psychic zombie before remembering the number seared into his flesh. "It was politics. I wanted to open the vault, the Overseer didn't. I persisted so I was beaten, branded, stripped, and kicked out as an example."

That was the truth, minus some important details. He figured they believed him since the non-terrifying one launched a new inquiry.

"Do you remember how to get back there? Any chance of getting the coordinates off your Pip-Boy?"

"Sorry I was too busy dying from exposure to leave a trail of breadcrumbs. As for my Pip-Boy..." He paused to shake his forearm and rattle loose bits inside."...they mangled it into scrap metal. I can't figure out how to get it off, much less fix it."

"Well if you don't got anywhere to go home to how about coming with us? We could always use a..."

"Pet?"

The abomination's interruption went unacknowledged "...hand, especially from someone with a vault education."

_Does it count as an education if you sleep through it?_

"Yeah she wants you for your education. Why the first thing she said when we found you was 'Look at the size of his education! Is it always that big or is it just swelling from...'"

"Fuck you Quent!"

Said undead was about to make another snide comment when the stranger on the couch spoke up.

"So about your offer. How are we gonna hide the Pip-Boy? It's pretty obvious under a sleeve and I don't want every nosy shithead pestering me about it."

"Oh don't worry, once we get you some clothes nobody'll be able to see that 76 and they'll just assume you're from Vault 101. You shouldn't get any trouble aside from the occasional dipshit bugging you about the Lone Wanderer."

He was about to ask who that was when her companion made another crack.

"So what should we name him? How bout Rover? No, Sparky! How'd you like that boy? We could engrave it on some shiny tags for you to..."

It was his turn to smack the smug corpse, an act both satisfying and icky. "It's Constantine Adams, jackass!"

The blow couldn't knock that smirk off, but there was a change in his tone.

"So it is kid. So it is."

* * *

><p>"You washed these right?"<p>

"Yes. Stop asking."

"With soap and clean water or just dipping them in a river?"

"At a laundrymat. Like I told you five minutes ago."

"And you haven't worn this outfit since then?"

"My answer hasn't changed from the last dozen times you asked me!"

Constantine, so glad the author stopped making me use pronouns, was still grossed out no matter how many times they had this conversation. His clothes belonging to a ghoul, apparently they insisted on being called that even though it sounded just as insulting as zombie to his ear, disturbed him even if he knew it was irrational.

"So how long were you wearing these? Are they relatively new or pre-war relics?"

Instead of answering that yet again Quent, much simpler to tell who's talking now, pulled some ducttape from his pack and grabbed Constantine's head.

By the time Julia returned his screams were muffled and he was trying to undue the roll binding his hands. Seriously that last part was just dumb. Why couldn't I use her name when we mentioned it right at the start? Utterly pointless.

What? Fine. I'll stick to the damn script...

Anyway our favorite idiot was being led through the wasteland in shiny tape shackles like some kind of hillbilly POW when his favorite idiot came back from scouting.

"I scanned the trail into Girdershade and there's no raiders. There's a Yao Guai near enough to smell us, but it's not hungry right now."

"What's a Yao Guai and how do you know if it's hungry?" He'd managed to chew through the tape on his mouth, much to Quent's annoyance.

"Yao Guai are just mangy bears. No idea why we call'em that."

Quent was using another roll to vertically wrap his jaw shut, but even if he could speak he wouldn't point out the problem with her answer. He didn't see one. He suddenly couldn't imagine why he ever cared about that second question.

By the time he freed himself from his restraints, or at least the ones he was aware of, Girdershade was on the horizon. It looked about how he'd pictured post-war civilization, a pre-war highway hanging over two heaps of debris roughly shaped like buildings. The only part that didn't match his expectations were the suits of power armor watching them as they entered town. He recognized the T-45d, but not the symbol on them. Instead of the American flag they bore a strange design with gears, wings, and a sword. The troops were clustered around a building bearing the same logo, a few practicing on a target range while most just looked bored. He was admiring their technique for smoking with a helmet on when a tug on his arm jerked him toward the other building. It had nothing on the outside and was no more welcoming on the inside.

The dirty tetanusy interior contained only a bar, some stools of dubious construction and a radio playing music he'd never heard before. The lyrics were gibberish aside from the occasional repetition of 'Louie', but he liked how it sounded. He couldn't say the same about the owner.

"Close the fucking door before I charge you for air conditioning!"

_Apparently customer service didn't survive the apocalypse._

Obeying that oh-so-polite request they took seats on the opposite end from a small group in power armor, wanting to avoid the shrapnel when one of their flimsy stools inevitabley shattered from the weight. Naturally he was curious about the strange soldiers, but other concerns preoccupied him.

"So whaddaya got to eat in this dump?"

His answer was a menu to the face. Nursing a papercut he skimmed the choices and found most of it alien or unappetizing. Settling for some familiar hashbrowns he doused them with ketchup before devouring them in seconds. Hunger sated he was about to gulp down his first ever glass of milk when he noticed it's odd color.

"Isn't this supposed to be white? I think it's gone bad."

Julia had already downed hers. "It's Brahmin milk. A glass a day keeps the radiation away, so they say."

Hey I do the bad rhymes in this story! Constantine was more bothered by her green milkstache.

"Is there anything else to drink? Something you surface dwellers haven't perverted beyond recognition?"

By total coincidence having nothing to do with lazy writing that was when the radio switched to commercials. Specifically an excited woman talking very rapidly about how great her Nuka-Cola was. Our dumbass had the expected reaction.

"Gimme one of those barman! I always wanted to try a..."

Before he could say another word the 'barman' had a sawn-off shotgun pointed at him, 'KNEECAPPER' lovingly etched in the barrel.

"...fuck."

* * *

><p>"Your pet is already getting us in trouble."<p>

"He didn't know any better. You're the one who told him to order a Quantum."

"So? What does it matter if Ronald missed?"

"Bullshit he missed!"

The bandage on Constantine's arm agreed with him. Quent didn't.

"Oh stop whining. One pellet doesn't count."

"That knight is lucky his stool broke when it did or the rest would've hit him in the face."

_No, 'lucky' would be if that asshole never fired a shot in the first place!_

Unable to get sympathy from them he tried returning to the walking coma he'd Med-Xed himself into earlier. Unfortunately the juice had worn off and he was finally becoming aware of his surroundings.

"What's that stench? It smells like a burning computer."

That's surprisingly accurate. While the scrapyard still got occasional vehicles it's main focus nowadays was dealing with an endless stream of discarded electronics. He recognized some pre-war RobCos and Radiation Kings, but the majority were contemporary models with unfamiliar brands like Tenpenny Tech and Stigg-Whitley. Regardless of origin they were now trash, dumped here to be harvested for working components and rare metals to use in new electronics. Breaking them down to separate the valuable materials often required fire and acid, messy processes that belched toxic fumes. He couldn't help noticing the workers wearing respirators over their faces while management had full-body protective suits. It was one of these anonymous foremen who approached them, a nametag their only defining feature. After shouting something none of them could hear over the machinery this 'Uris' led them north to a settlement where breathing was slightly less difficult. At it's center were some lovely pre-war houses, but of course their destination was one of the sloppily constructed post-war 'houses' on the outskirts. Inside the air was filtered to tolerable levels, but the place was filthy. With books. Hundreds of books. Stacked against every wall. Filling every shelf. Piled in every open space. The only area to escape this obsession was a lone corner containing all the necessities of bedroom, kitchen, and bathroom.

The hoarder removed their helmet to reveal a woman with short blonde hair, warm blue eyes, and giddy smile. "Did you get the books?"

_How about a medical dictionary? You can look up bibliomania..._

His comrades didn't share his pity. They fed her addiction by dumping a sack of books on the floor bearing faded 'Centreville Public Library' stamps. Falling to her knees she frantically sorted them into piles before noticing the newcomer.

"Who's your buddy with the Pip-Boy?"

One of his 'buddies' insulted him. "A parasite who latched onto us."

His other 'buddy' ignored him. "Are we getting paid in money this time? I don't care how valuable you think an Encyclopedia Brittanicca is, it ain't worth shit to us!"

"I got your cash Julia. No reason to torch these relics like last time." With her savings divided among several hollow books it would take Uris some time to scour the labyrinth for their pay. When she was out of earshot Constantine started his blathering.

"It doesn't seem ethical profiting off someone's mental illness. She should be paying a therapist instead."

The others wisely ignored him. Julia perused a copy of 'LYING: Congressional Style' while Quent flipped through a red book written in foreign symbols, some kind of tactical manual judging from the illustrations. He was deciding which to annoy when his curiosity was sapped away and replaced with baser urges. He soon found the object of his desire and was deep in concentration when Uris returned.

"Are you you enjoying the, uh, literature?"

His eyes didn't budge from the faded nudie mag. "Yeah, but do you got anything more recent? It's kinda creepy knowing one of these women could be my great-great-great-great-great grandmother."

Getting no response except for a disgusted stare he blathered on. "So what's with all the books? Are you just an obsessive or do the voices in your head command it?"

Snatching the magazine she rolled it up and slapped it across his nose as if with a misbehaving dog. "I'm a librarian you jerk. I'm only storing my collection here until I can move them to a more respectable home."

'Respectable', now there's a word Constantine was unfamiliar with. "Why would you need to start your own library? Why aren't the institutions of higher learning in a bidding war to hire the weirdo who lives in a shack full of books?"

"Because I was an Outcast you fuckhead!"

"I didn't have any friends growing up either but you don't see me blaming that for all my... Hey let go of me!"

Quent resorted to the ducttape again and Uris' exposition continued uninterrupted.

"I have to start my own because I'm not allowed to set foot in the Arlington library. It doesn't matter that I left, that I told the Brotherhood everything I know about my sister and the rest of those fanatics, they still consider me a traitor."

Constantine learned nothing from her explanation except that swallowing ducttape was probably a bad idea.

"Yeah that's why you're shunned. Your bed being within arm's reach of your toilet has nothing to do with it."

Giving up on the chimp Uris gave it's handlers a weary look.

"What are you doing with this prick?"

* * *

><p>"She was right you know. He is a prick."<p>

"So are you. What does it matter?"

"He's a moron too. I can only handle one of those."

"I know he acts awful, but I feel something good in there."

"You better be right. I'm out of tape."

"Trust me. And shutup, he's coming back."

Returning from the bathroom 'he' was confronted by two sets of judgmental eyes.

"Is this about that magazine? She should have charged you for just the pages I ripped out, not the whole thing. Blame her for gouging you."

Deprived of his usual method for silencing the fool Quent instead shoved a bottle in his hands.

_Lone Wanderer Lager? Who the fuck is this guy? Why is he on their money?_

He quickly gulped it down and started talking again.

"About this Rosie Republic..."

Julia corrected. "The Democracy of Rosie"

Constantine ignored. "I like my name better. So before they settled here Olney was infested with these, uh, whaddayacallem... deathjaws?"

Again she corrected. "Deathclaws."

Again he ignored. "I like my name better. So how did they manage to kill those things? That one's dead and I still piss myself looking at it."

The stuffed creature dominated the room, lounging in an oversized chair holding an oversized beer in it's oversized claws.

"There was no 'they'. Rosie had a fuckbuddy of hers singlehandedly wipe out the nest. The same bastard who rigged an election to put her in power." Her voice had taken a noticeably bitter tone.

Well, noticeable to anyone who's not completely oblivious. "A single dude against dozens of those? He must be one total badass!"

"I guess 'total badass' is one way to describe him. I prefer 'war criminal'."

Finally getting the hint he changed the subject. "Hey is it safe to be drinking with med-x still in my system?"

"No. Absolutely not." Said Quent as he handed him another drink.

Chugging it anyway he shut up and enjoyed the music. Up on stage a band of ghouls were playing a catchy tune about where some woman wasn't, the singer performing remarkably well considering the state of his vocal cords. Our fool was about to shout a request when he noticed a new group joining the audience, heavily armed with green combat armor and shamrock emblems. Before he could pester his new friends about this latest oddity one of them spoke up, her gloominess forgotten as she eyed a particularly hunky mercenary.

"You think I've got a chance with Reilly's boy over there?"

Constantine shrugged. "How would I know?"

Quent snorted. "Why should I care?"

Julia glared. "I'm gonna take that as a yes. I'll find you guys in the morning. Don't bother tryin too find me."

True to her word she disappeared into the crowd, briefly reappearing among the rangers before vanishing again with one of them in tow. With her gone Constantine finally voiced a thought that'd been festering in his mind all day.

"So, uh, what's the deal with you two? Are you, you know... I mean, is she into that sort of thing?"

His suggestion was practically incestuous and got the response it deserved. When the hail of blows finally ceased our dumbass retreated upstairs to the small room they'd rented and locked himself in the even smaller bathroom. Stripping off clothing and bandages he was about to start a desperately needed shower when he noticed a horrifying image on the wall. The poor bastard it depicted was sunburnt to a crisp, wounded and bruised all over, marked with a brand, face covered by lines of sticky tape residue, hair a mess of dirt and sweat, just fucked up and hideous in general.

It took him a second to realize he was looking in a mirror. Pulling the curtain shut with a weary sigh he twisted knobs until it was tuned to just the right temperature. A sign warned the water was still slightly irradiated and dangerous for the pregnant, but with no fetus to worry about he gleefully soaked it up. After washing away most of the muck he grabbed a bar of soap and got to work on the more persistent grime.

"Out, damned spot! Out, I say!"

With considerable shouting and scrubbing he cleansed his body before moving on to his hair. Applying heaps of shampoo and conditioner from bottles labeled 'Tenpenny Beauty' he returned his scalp to a pristine state just as the last of the hot water was running out. Shutting off the cold stream he toweled himself dry and admired his salvage job in the mirror before finally opening the door.

On the other side stood a familiar smirk. Glancing down confirmed a suspicion it's owner had held all day. "Huh, so I guess it was just swelling."

Too exhausted to think of a comeback he simply shoved past Quent and collapsed on the nearest bed. Moments later he found himself standing back in the vault with a gun in his hand and a corpse on the ground.

* * *

><p><em>What am I doing?<em>

Taken literally that was an easy question. Quent was currently watching a little girl cautiously poke at her plate of mirelurk. Figuratively it was more difficult. He wasn't cut out to be a father, his first attempt hadn't gone well at all, but something about the brat tugged at his heartstrings. Having not yet realized how accurate that statement was he couldn't figure out why he'd stopped for this orphan after passing by so many others over the centuries. Did he still feel a twinge of loyalty toward that symbol on her jumpsuit? Or had he simply gone soft?

He tried turning the question around. "Why don't you wanna go back to your own kind? Wouldn't you prefer them to some nasty old ghoul?"

When he made this offer before she had shook her head in refusal, too traumatized at the time to speak. A day later her voice was still a quiet monotone.

"They're all creeped out by me. Besides even if they took me back to dad he wouldn't want me."

"Oh come on I'm sure he misses you."

"He misses mom. All I am is a reminder that she left." Her father clearly wasn't the only one who missed her mother. She was on the verge of tears.

He did his best to cheer her up. "All the more reason he'll want you back. He's probably heartbroken with both of you gone."

He failed. "Than why isn't he looking for me? Why did he run off to that purifier thingy instead?"

He didn't have an answer for that.

* * *

><p>* All quotations from the Wasteland Survival Guide here reproduced are taken from the 3rd Edition published in 2287 by the Tenpenny Publishing Co., Rivet City, with permission of the publishers.<p> 


	2. Outcasts

Psykers- ...Though widely dismissed as mere myth conjured up from science fiction and tabletop wargames there is credible evidence of individuals with psychic powers. Everyone in D.C. knows of the Lone Wanderer's odyssey to Point Lookout and his fight against a giant brain capable of speaking to him through his mind, but I'm more interested in the Brotherhood's historical records regarding a mysterious being known as the Master who once terrorized California. They claim he had a similar ability to project his thoughts, but what fascinates me are the rumors that he figured out how to awaken psychic abilities in humans through cranial injections of FEV. My research suggests the amygdalae as promising targets, but an unfortunate lack of volunteers prevents me from testing this hypothesis.

Several readers have criticized past editions of this article for leaving out the infamous AntAgonizer, better known as Tanya Christoff. However as I theorized and later confirmed in an interview at her lovely Tenpenny Tower suite this supposedly supernatural power over ants is actually a mutation which causes her to secrete powerful pheromones from her...

WASTELAND SURVIVAL GUIDE

* * *

><p>"What's wrong with mirelurk?"<p>

"Mostly your refusal to tell me exactly what a 'mirelurk' is."

"They're delicious. That's all you need to know."

One must remember 'delicious' is a subjective term. Julia might enjoy munching on bipedal crustaceans, but Constantine long ago lost the taste for flesh. It started at a young age when he saw the shameful amount of resources the vault's elite wasted plumping up their private meat supply and refused to go along with it. Instead he restricted himself to a peasant diet like the majority of the vault's inhabitants, the first disagreement in that long string which ended so tragically. Swallowing a mouthful of rice and beans he went for a less sensitive topic.

"So what exactly is it you two do for a living? Please don't tell me the bookmobile gig is your full-time job."

"We do whatever we get paid to do." Their was a brief pause as Constantine imagined the things he'd pay her to do and she rolled her eyes. "For example today we're gonna be research assistants."

Before he could a reply a harsh laugh bellowed from the other side of the table. "You're taking him to Moira? Five bucks says he loses a limb. Ten says she sows it back on in the wrong spot just for shits and giggles."

Fanning away the smell of ghoul morning breath Constantine accepted his challenge."You're on stinky. I can handle whatever the wasteland throws at me."

"You better smoothshit. You gotta survive long enough to pay us back for all that stuff."

He hadn't gotten around to cutting the 'Tenpenny Fashion' tags of his clothes so he knew exactly how much he owed there. He vaguely remembered how much they paid for the leather armor and assault rifle, both of them stamped with a stylized 'Sydney' signature. Together with ammo, rations, cookware, medical supplies, binoculars, flashlight, batteries, utility knife, and backpack to hold everything it piled up to an impressive shopping spree. He was trying to figure out the cost when a pair of fingers shoved their way into his mouth and he tasted something decidedly undelicious. Spitting out the chunk of mirelurk he reached back into his childhood memories for a comparison.

"Ew. Tastes like chicken."

His review left Julia staring in utter confusion. "What's a chicken?"

* * *

><p>Despite what certain black robed types might claim the Brotherhood did not abandon their mission on the east coast, they expanded it. Instead of futilely trying to hoard technology amongst themselves the old elder had used it to for the benefit of all humanity, an act of calculated charity that swelled his ranks with local recruits. While he saw the Capital Wasteland's population as just an easy supply of manpower his successor realized their true potential. The locals here were surprisingly tech savvy, pre-war technology being the only reason anyone would settle in this barren land, and over the centuries many had developed a passion for science which rivaled the scribes. Working together the two groups, with unwilling assistance from captured Enclave personnel, forged something quite rare in the modern world. Their society had the brainpower to not only repair or recreate pre-war tech, but to improve upon it and innovate entirely new technologies. Recognizing this as the source of her power the new Elder devoted enormous resources toward encouraging the trend.<p>

The Bethesda Research Institute was a shining example of this philosophy. Walking among the renovated ruins and new constructions Constantine would never have guessed this was once a bloodspattered raider fortress. The current inhabitants were about as far from those violent savages as you could get, though judging from the glares they apparently took just as kindly to outsiders. Scribe red or civilian white, human or ghoul, all were united in their contempt for the ignorant intruders and suspicious eyes followed them as they made their way toward an unmarked building on the outskirts. Here the great buzz of activity came to an unnerving stop with not a single person entering, leaving, or even approaching this structure. Their reason for shunning it became clear as soon he stepped through the door.

Inside was a technonightmare of bubbling chemicals and sparking machinery. Due to lack of knowledge or excess of sanity Constantine was unable to comprehend any of the experiments and could only gawk in horrified fascination as he followed the others deeper into the lab. As they weaved their way through the labyrinth he began to hear music coming from unseen speakers, nonsensical gibberish about some girl named Jane and how much she paid for a ticket. Loud as it was the trippy tune was still nearly drowned out by a roaring cackle. Following the laughter they found a woman in a wornout jumpsuit who held a most frightening contraption. It looked like she'd gutted a refrigerator, connected it's entrails to a coolant tank, and jammed a crutch through the middle to use as a stock. She was testing it on a cage full of mole rats when she pivoted to greet them and forgot to take her finger off the trigger.

By this point in the story I shouldn't have to tell you who got hit by the blast. "Wha... Wha... What the fuck woman!"

"Woops! Don't worry though you'll probably be fine once you thaw out."

_Well gee, thanks for the reassurance!_

While he shivered and swore Julia examined the weapon.

"Holy shit Moira! What is that thing?"

"I call it the cryolator! Wanna give it a try?"

Cryolator? And I thought Constantine was a stupid name...

"Maybe another time. We're here to see if you got any projects you need help with." Though unspoken the 'for a hefty payment' at the end of that sentence was understood by both parties.

Lucky for her Moira never missed a chance to send research assistants to their doom "Well as long you're offering I could use a CODE."

This assistant couldn't resist being a smartass. "Up, up, down, down, left, right...

"Not that kind of code! The CODE I'm talking about is a gizmo they developed before the war. It stands for Challenge, Opportunity, Discipline..."

"Ethics. Speaking of which what exactly is it you intend to do with a device that can instantly brainwash someone?"

She hadn't expected Quent to know about that and fumbled around for an answer. "Oh, you know, study it..."

The guilty look on her face said otherwise. Pulling out a holotape she went on with her explanation.

"So, uh, recently a scavenger I know dug up the passwords to an old research facility. According to the records it was working on a scaled-up version so they must have some there. If everything goes right you should be able to just walk in, grab one, and walk out."

"Wa... wa... wait, what happens if the passwords don't ..." Moira did us all a favor by blasting him again.

"You'll set off the security system and be mowed down by sentry bots!"

Those last two words froze Julia just as stiff as Constantine. "You know come to think of it we're busy and can't..."

Her excuses were cut short by Quent shoving his way past to snatch the holotape. As he dragged the younger pair away a shout echoed after them.

"You sure you don't wanna take the cryolator? It could always use some field testing!"

* * *

><p>Is she really gonna stick with that name? We already have a flamer, why not call the opposite an icer? Or is that not pretentious enough for her?<p>

What am I supposed to be talking about again? Oh yeah, that prick. Currently he was stumbling his way through a dark metro tunnel, for once not being the annoying one.

"We're totally lost, might as well turn around and..."

"No."

"This part of town was hit pretty hard, I doubt the facility is even still..."

"No."

"What if we...

"No!"

Having knocked down all of Julia's excuses Quent did the same to a locked door, sunlight flooding in through the opening. Stumbling back into open air Constantine reasserted his place as the most annoying.

"This whole city is a dump! Two hundred years and you surface dwellers still haven't bothered to clean up."

No response whatsoever. Julia wasn't in the mood for his crap right now and Quent was never in the mood for it. He was wrong anyway. Since the Lone Wanderer's time much of D.C had been resettled and rebuilt, though admittedly it still couldn't be described as 'clean'. Only the eastern edge remained war-torn and that portion shrunk every year as Rivet City gobbled it up block by block. Even here were the fringes of civilization, scavenger teams who sought out pre-war valuables to return to post-war society and raider gangs who looted post-war society for valuables to return to their pre-war hideouts. Both groups had a triggerhappy reputation and our trio kept a safe distance as they followed the crude map Moira had scribbled on their holotape. After a long trek through the urban jungle they eventually arriving at a narrow alley leading to an imposing set of blastdoors labeled 'Implied Hypnotics, inc.'. Stepping ahead of the rest Julia pretended to fiddle with the door's terminal before turning around with a transparent look of disappointment on her face.

"Looks like it's is busted. Kinda silly of Moira to think it 'd work after two hundred..."

Her sentence trailed off as Quent gave a disbelieving stare. Knowing that trick had failed she handed over the tape and stood back to let him try it. As the doorway rumbled open Constantine felt a jarring sensation, suddenly swinging from bored indifference to mindnumbing terror.

Abandoning all subtlety Julia whispered in his ear."If we both run Quent won't be able to catch us, just head the opposite direction from me and we'll... Hey!"

The feeling vanished in an instant as Quent shoved her toward the door. Naturally he opened his mouth to ask about this little incident, but one look from the ghoul shut it again and he quietly followed. As the doors closed behind them a mechanical groan could be heard and they began to descend, the old machinery shrieking in ways that deeply unnerved Constantine. He wasn't half as worried as his trembling companion though. Noticing her apprehension he comforted her in that way only he could.

"What the fuck are you so scared of? They're just robots. I mean, they got firepower, but they're dumb as rocks."

"It's not their weapons that scare me you twit!" Having given him a well deserved lashing she continued. "It's their mindset that scares me. A person has empathy, a robot doesn't. A person can be reasoned with, a robot can't. A robot can turn a flamethrower on a classroom full of children without the slightest hesitation or regret."

_That's an oddly specific example._

Quent was more caring. Knowing how painful this subject was to her, and aware that he'd pushed her into confronting it, he displayed what little sympathy he was capable of by placing a hand on her shoulder. The gesture calmed her somewhat, but what really helped was replacing fear with confusion.

"What the hell? There's people down there!"

Avoiding the obvious for now Constantine asked something more immediately relevant. "What are you talking about? Have some of Quent's cousins been locked in here since the war?"

"It's not ghouls. You can always tell someone that old. They're regular humans like you and they're looking for something."

_'like you'?_

Again he was confused and again there were more pressing matters to deal with. In this case it was the elevator doors opening to a suit of black and red power armor holding a plasma caster. This unimpressed Outcast gave our trio only a brief examination before taking aim and instantly regretting it. In less time than it took them to squeeze the trigger Quent had closed the distance and plunged a knife through their neckseal. A little pressure to the jugular and their weapon clattered on the floor a second later. He was about to start an interrogation when a shout rang through the corridor

"What's going on back there!"

From around the corner emerged a woman with short blonde hair, cold blue eyes, angry scowl, and gleaming prosthetic. Aside from that last detail Constantine found her oddly familiar.

_Why is Uris here? What the fuck happened to her arm?_

The doppleganger seemed more annoyed than concerned by them. "Alright wastelanders let's be rational, if you're capable of that, and make a trade. You let my friend go and I won't kill you. That's fair right?"

Julia agreed. "Sounds good to me. Let's get back on the elevator and..."

Constantine didn't. "Wait a damn minute! What are you doing down here Uris? Why are you wearing that silly robe? "

She ignored his fashion advice. "You know Uris do you? Figures you're the kind of trash she hangs out with these days. As a favor to her I suppose I'll keep my word instead of just shooting you in the back when you turn to leave."

"And how exactly are you gonna do that when you're unar..."

His lame attempt at humor was thankfully cut short as her hand fell away to reveal the business end of a gatling laser. Instantly seeing the logic in Julia's surrender he backed away toward the elevator, but Quent wasn't so easily scared. Shielded behind his hostage he defiantly aimed a pistol at her, the two of them eyeing each other until she lowered her weapon and reeled in the wire connecting her hand.

"Fuck... Alright let them go and you can screw around down here all you want. Just don't get in our way or mess with anything."

He confidently pressed his advantage. "I don't think you're in a position to be giving orders. What's stopping me from slitting their throat and shooting you?"

"The mini nuke in my shoulder that'll go off if my vital signs fail."

That'll do it. A quick exchange of glances with Julia confirmed that the one-armed technocrat could be trusted and he removed his blade.

Regaining his courage Constantine stepped forward and asked the same stupid question as before. "Alright so now that we're no longer pointing guns at each other can someone explain to me why the weirdo book lady is down here?"

"You show my sister some respect!" Ouch. A metal palm right across the cheek.

"Damnit that's not Uris. It's her evil twin Olin."

What did I tell you about the bad rhymes! Olin also had a problem with her answer.

"Evil? I take offense to that. Is it evil to slap a child's hand away when you see them playing with a firearm? Is it evil to..."

"Oh spare us the philosophy lecture!" For once I agree with Constantine. He continued in his usual pleasant tone. "All I need to know is who the fuck you are and what the fuck you're doing here. So far I've only gotten one so cough up the other."

Olin looked genuinely disappointed at not getting to do her lecture. "If you must know I'm looking for some pre-war tech, something far beyond your understanding or..."

"Is it a CODE?"

She was starting to get annoyed by his interruptions. "Well, not exactly, but how do you know about... Wait, how did you even get down here? I refuse to believe you're capable of hacking that terminal on the surface."

"Of course not. We got a holotape with the..."

A ghoulish elbow to the ribs silenced him, but he'd already blurted out too much.

"You've got the passwords? You could actually afford that fuckhead scavenger's price? Well why didn't you say that before instead of babbling like an idiot?"

Because frankly we wouldn't have much of a story without his babbling. Leading our wastelanders farther into the facility Olin brought them to another door with another terminal, the latter missing a panel from when she tried to crack the password while the former was covered with dents from when her buddy tried a different sort of brute-force attack. I'm not sure what the five of them were expecting on the other side, but it probably wasn't jail cells and skeletons.

Constantine asked the question on everyone's mind. "What happened to them? This place has more skeletons than an Overseer's closet."

"Test subjects I'd wager. Must've been left here to starve when the personnel fled."

I guess it wasn't much of a question to Quent, but I was still right about...

"Who cares about them? They died in the war just like billions of others. Now let's hurry up before another gaggle of brainless primitives comes down the elevator."

Okay so she isn't asking it, but what do expect from a coldhearted Outcast? I'm sure Julia...

"I'm with her. Let's find that doohickey and get out of here as fast as we can."

Oh to hell with all of you! As the uncooperative assholes headed deeper into the facility they discovered more skeletons on autopsy tables, though these clearly hadn't died from starvation.

"Woah look at their skulls! It's like their brain exploded."

Once more Quent had an explanation. "I've seen this before. Some dumbass tried using a Mesmetron in an interrogation and the guy's head went kablooey. The bosses were pissed about it, but they weren't half as angry as that janitor who had to clean up the mess."

In this case it wasn't a Mesmetron though. Digging through a nearby desk Olin pulled out the culprit, a camera-like device with a strangely shaped flash bulb where the lens should be. Loading it with a nearby card labeled 'HALT' she flashed Constantine in the face and he went stiff as a board, her usually stoic expression breaking into an amused grin as he wobbled like a bowling pin before falling over.

After a minute of everyone wondering if the effect was permanent Constantine climbed to his feet and justifiably yelled at her. "What the hell did you do that for! You could have killed me!"

"How else was I supposed to know if it worked?"

Stepping between them Julia did her best to mediate the situation. "Don't bother trying to guilt her over this Constantine. She's killed so many people I doubt she'd even notice another body on the pile. Just be glad we found a CODE and can finally get out of here."

"We? The only we here is the two of us and we don't hand over tech to ignorant wastelanders like you." Chucking the CODE to her sidekick they locked it away in a compartment on their armor.

Leaning toward them Julia gave everything she had. "Oh come on, just let us have it. You won't have to put up with us anymore and I'm sure you can find another down here."

To Olin's amazement her normally stubborn comrade was complying. With eyes narrowed at the unnaturally persuasive wastelander she slammed the compartment shut on her partner's hand and snapped them back to their senses. Stashing away the CODE once more they kept a healthy distance from the manipulative wastelander as our group made their way toward the lowest level. There they found something that made the Outcasts downright giddy and left our gang very confused. It resembled a spotlight with an enlarged version of the CODE's bulb, a rig for attaching it to an aircraft, and the words 'Challenge Opportunity Discipline Ethics Sharing' stenciled on it. Pushing ahead of the others Olin excitedly wired herself into the computer network and the screen on her forearm lit up with data nobody else in the room could understand. Her expression quickly soured though and she soon yanked herself loose in a show of frustration.

"Damnit! Those pre-war morons never got it to work! It can strike multiple targets, but the range is so pathetic you might as well just walk up and hit them each with a CODE individually. So much for the non-violent solution. Looks like we're back to massacring them."

_Who exactly does she mean by 'them'?_

Usually that friend of hers. In this case though she means you, Julia, Quent, basically anyone who objects to a low tech existence under her boot. Before he could ask for clarification though the armored Outcast finally spoke up in a heavily filtered voice. "Couldn't we take it back and try to get it working?"

She waved off their idea. "It'd be pointless. If we had the time or resources for a project on that scale we'd just build a nuke and be done with them."

_Who the hell is 'them'!_

I just friggin told you. Why do I bother explaining this stuff if nobody is gonna listen to me? Speaking of not listening...

"I'm still taking it."

"Fine, but I'm telling you it won't do any good."

She was right about that. Ripping the CODES from it's stand did a lot of bad instead. Those bad things happened in the following order:

1. A siren began wailing.

2. The exit slammed shut.

3. Panels on the wall slid open to reveal sentry bots.

4. Julia pissed herself.

Okay maybe that last one was more gross than bad, but my point stands. It was a terrible decision which they all paid for as the room was torn apart by miniguns and missiles. For once the weight and size of pre-war computers came in handy as they took cover behind a particularly bulky mainframe, Olin frantically trying to reverse the lockdown while the other four hurled plasma and armor piercing rounds at the robotic horde. Their squad put up a good fight, but outnumbered and outgunned they would inevitably be overrun. Before this could happen though one of them had an idea. Not a very smart idea, but an idea none the less.

_Looks like I'll be getting that execution I deserve after all._

Leaping out of cover Constantine sprinted right toward the bots, juking and hopping like a crazed bunny as he dodged around their shots. Programmed to target the nearest threat they completely ignored the others to focus entirely on the idiot charging at them. The universe must love a fool though because he actually managed to reach them despite the wall of fire. Unable to deviate from their programming they continued shooting even as he weaved through the middle of their formation, blasting each other to pieces in the process. By the time Olin disabled the security system their numbers had been reduced to a fraction, the battered survivors instantly abandoning their aggression and rolling back to niches in the wall. For a while Constantine stood dumbfounded wondering how he was still here instead of in the afterlife having a very awkward conversation. He was only shaken back to reality when Quent approvingly slapped him on the back.

"That was either the bravest thing I've ever seen or the dumbest!"

* * *

><p>"I save their lives and how do they repay us? With jack shit! All that effort for nothing."<p>

"We already know. We were there. Even if we hadn't seen it ourselves we've been listening to you complain about it the whole way back." It hadn't taken long for Julia's usual snarkyness to return.

Constantine on the other hand had never lost his whinyness. "I'm just saying I understand now why nobody likes those Outcasts. They're jerks!"

"Yeah forget about that town they wiped out, what really bugs people about them is their lack of gratitude."

Thankfully for us their bickering came to an end as they arrived at Moira's lab, the interior splotched with burn marks and patches of ice. Following the sound of clanking power armor they barely avoided being frozen and/or roasted as Moira shot random blasts from the weapons strapped to her arms. One arm supported a flamer while the other carried a streamlined version of her new invention, each connected to a pair of tanks on her back. Rather bravely Julia approached the mad scientist to make small talk.

"So, uh, I see you've been working on that cryothingy."

"Yep. It's not a cryolator anymore though. I call it the icer now."

You call it the what?

"Huh, that name's way better. I would never have been able to remember cryowhatever'"

"Thanks. I thought of it all by myself."

I... I'm sure she did. She must have. Right?

"Well duh Moira, I kinda assumed that. Now about that CODE. We didn't actually get it, we had a little trouble down in the facility, but we did manage to test one on Constantine and I was wondering if you could give us a little consolation for our effort."

I mean how else could she have come up with that name? It's not like she can hear me. Can she?

"Yes I can!"

"There's no need to yell Moira."

Says you! I say there's a damn good need to yell! Someone tell me what the hell is going on here!

* * *

><p>I don't care if she writes the chapter introductions, you shouldn't let her do that. Aside from making no damn sense it's an invasion of privacy. How am I supposed to mock these characters if I'm worried about being overheard?<p>

So she's the only one in this story? You better be telling the truth. Either way that's an awful idea. Even if it were a good idea it'd still be bad idea to go off the deep end this early in the story. Maybe if you came up with a decent plot instead of these ridiculous... Huh? Look I don't care if the readers are getting annoyed with this bit. I'm talking to you right now!

"What's up with this music? It sounds like someone kicked them in the balls right before they did the recording."

Don't pull that with me. Your one-dimensional dipshits can babble all they want, it won't stop me from...

"Walk like a man? I wish they'd sing like men!"

You can try to shut me up, but I'm not backing down. If I'm gonna be narrating this thing you gotta put a lot more effort into the writing and...

"That chorus, it's like nails on a chalkboard. oo-woo-oo-oo!"

I don't care how long they jabber on, I'm still gonna...

"Don't you start Constantine. It's bad enough coming from the jukebox."

For fuck's sake this is the same interrupting gag we did earlier! That's exactly the sort of thing I'm...

"Oo-woo-oo-oo! Oo-woo-oo... Ow!"

Fine I'll drop it for now, but we're not done talking about this.

"Don't act like you didn't deserve that one."

I can think of somebody else who deserves one. If I weren't stuck in this spot I'd give it to them.

Now where were we in this so-called 'story'? Oh yeah, Constantine had just gotten whacked upside the head by Quent. How original.

"Does he ever lay off with the smacks? It's getting old."

"Not really. After a while though the back of your head toughens up and you barely feel'em."

Just thinking about those childhood memories sent an ache through Julia's skull. Luckily she had a remedy for it. Rolling a wad of greasy green goo in a thin paper she lit one end as she took a long draw from the other. With a smile on her face she leaned forward and held out the smoldering chem in Constantine's direction. Taking the odd substance in hand he cautiously sniffed it before taking a quick puff. Being a first timer he was overwhelmed by the mix of mellowness and ecstasy, almost dropping the paper as he sagged in his chair.

"Wha... What is this stuff? It's wonderful..."

Julia responded in a somewhat slurred voice. "They call it smooch. Now pass it already. That stuff ain't cheap and you're letting it burn."

He tried handing it to Quent, but the ghoul ignored his offer. Moving along to Julia she eagerly snatched it and inhaled. Demonstrating her years of experience she blew a set of smoke rings before tapping it over a slot in their table, the ashes tumbling down a long tube and vaporizing in an atomic flash. Handing it back to Constantine he tried duplicating her trick, but only managed to blow out a shapeless cloud which was quickly absorbed into the club's blanketing fog. For awhile the two passed their smoky treat back and forth having a good time, but when it had burned to a stub our fool's demeanor took a serious turn. With his head full of chemical courage and her guard lowered by the intoxicating sludge he managed to ask the questions he'd been mulling over for hours.

"So are you ever gonna tell me what the hell was going on back there? How did you do whatever it was you did to me?"

Instead of answering she threw back questions of her own. Tough ones. "So who was it Constantine? Who did you kill back in the vault?"

Taken by surprise he stuttered out a weak denial. "I... I don't know what you're..."

Her smooch-induced apathy vanished in an instant. "Bullshit! Nobody carries around that much guilt without blood on their hands."

With no other options he went for his last resort, telling the truth. "Okay so I did murder someone. Someone very close to me. It wasn't easy, but they left me no other choice."

Speaking to the woman across from him he hadn't expected a reaction from the ghoul between them.

"It's never easy, but it has to be done."

Julia hadn't expected that either and it took her a moment to recover. With a sigh she began her explanation.

"If you must know I was born, well, created with the ability to sense and control emotions. It's not all powerful though, especially now that you're second guessing your feelings and pushing back."

_I notice there's no 'and I promise not to fuck with your mind anymore' in there._

Not sure how to respond to her admission he switched gears. "So... You wanna light up some more smooch?"

Her smile returned as she pulled out a wad of goop and rolling papers. "Yeah, sure."

* * *

><p><em>What could be so damn important?<em>

That thought had been running through Burke's mind the whole flight. The elder hadn't been happy about him walking out on their negotiations, to put it lightly, but the old man must have considered this news more important than those juicy defense contracts.

_We need a new pilot. This jackass doesn't know a flightstick from his cock._

He was pretty awful. The vertibird's 'landing' on the tower's rooftop helipad was basically a controlled crash. Picking himself off the cabin floor Burke headed out into the sunshine and was greeted by a shout.

"Took you long enough! Get down here my boy, get down here!"

Getting down there to the penthouse balcony he found Tenpenny indulging in his ever-present cigar and glass of whiskey. The ancient bastard didn't even bother looking at him as he took a seat nearby. The old man's gaze pointed north, as if trying to stare his distant enemy into submission.

"Tell me Burke, do you remember that boy from Vault 101?"

Grabbing the whiskey bottle Burke poured some for himself. "How could I forget? You can't walk five feet without seeing his image plastered on something. Is this why you dragged me back here? To point out for the hundreth time that you were right about him?"

"No, that's just a bonus. I brought you here because of someone else. Someone who will accomplish far more. He's a damn fool, but when the time comes he'll be the one who decides all our fates."

For a while Burke said nothing, staring into his glass as he processed this information. It was only after long contemplation and a stiff drink that he replied.

"So what do you need from me?"

The corners of Tenpenny's mouth rose into a faint smirk. "You need to find out what sort of fool we're dealing with."


End file.
